Saturday, March 8, 2014

Postcard Challenge #9: Empty Lot

My newest postcard was full of delicious possibility words: "immense," "repurpose," "transform," "help the planet."

Kathleen's words were to think of "a space that you would change if you could. Dream it...then pray it..."

My mind immediately started racing even though my body felt weary. Where should I begin? A community garden for Harris Gardens, a low-income housing project in our city? A community center for kids in our neighborhood? An orphanage in a dusty place far away? The thoughts felt heavy instead of what they were supposed to be, an exercise in hope. 

There was a time when I would have pulled out the 64 box of Crayola crayons and drawn you a diagram complete with zoning considerations and possible fundraising avenues. There will probably be a time soon when the box could come out again. But you know what I'm learning? 

Now is not that season

I'm taking part in a discipleship group called a Huddle (more on this and on Mike Breen's team here), and we've been going through questions and simple images that help us learn to live life like Jesus did. 

This week's image was called the "Semi-Circle." Here's my version: 


This image shows life the way God intended it, a pendulum swing from resting to working, from abiding to fruitfulness. As we begin to move toward fruitfulness we grow, as we return to rest after fruitful work, we are pruned back until we abide once more. 

Over and over in the Bible, the same pattern emerges. Created humans are told to be fruitful but first get a day off with the rest of creation. Jesus begins a sweeping ministry, but not before spending six weeks with the Spirit in the desert. Jesus' command to bear much fruit, but not until we remain in him. 

"Work from rest, not rest from work."-Mike Breen

And our question: How are we experiencing rest? 

The way that Huddle works is that we are to report back after two weeks on observations, reflections, ways we've heard God prompting us and what we're going to do about it. Slowing down enough to pay attention to what God has for us. 

And for me, God has a season. 

My pendulum is swinging to the left, pruning, often painful, is moving me to abide, so I can one day be fruitful. 



It was everywhere this week, a call to embrace a season of pruning that leads to abiding.

A call to abide in my spirit, trusting God to do the work of redemption I often try to force myself: 

From my reading in Galatians this week:"The person who lives in right relationship with God does it by embracing what God arranges for her. Doing things for God is the opposite of entering to what God does for you. Habakuk had it right, 'The person who believes God, is set right by God-- and that's the real life.'" (3:11-12,MSG)

And, "Does the God who lavishly provides you with his own presence, His Holy Spirit working things in your life you could never do for yourselves, does he do these things because of your strenuous moral striving or because you trust him to do them in you? (3:5-6, MSG)

"The one who plants in response to God letting His spirit do the growth work in her harvests a crop of real, eternal life." (6:7, MSG)

A call to abide in my schedule, trusting that this season is God-given and good, with limits I haven't always let be what they are.  

A wise counselor, listening to me explain my anxious thoughts, exhausted arguments gently suggests that there are seasons in life and that I haven't allowed the seasons to change. I'm still striving to do what I did before rings and diapers, what I could do one day when there are school buses or college dorms. 

I have been fighting the vineyard shears, wanting to pluck heavy clusters of grape globes instead of picking cheerios off the floor. I have been fighting the pruning that will lead to the rest I so desperately need. 

Pruning looks a whole lot like feeding ice cream to soothe new molars and telling Bible stories in the car together instead of reading them because she can't sit still and Daddy's late for work.


Pruning looks like having a heart to heart conversation with a friend on our couch with the drifting smell of a diaper waiting to be sprayed out instead of some Sumatran delicious something from Starbucks (don't worry, no picture of this one!).

Pruning looks like serving Sharp Shopper hot chocolate and leftover dessert from Sunday dinner to two kids doing homework when I want to have a community center with art and English classes. 


This picture reminds me of an I Spy book.
Can you spy the spoon? The sock? The half-eaten cracker? 
Pruning looks like relearning how to live in the thick cocoon of Christ's sufficiency when I want to forge forward in ministry. 

And so, my empty lot might look something like this: 


A fallow field soaking up a stream. Vines abiding in their season. 

Last year, we drove through Crosskeys' Vineyard near our house and were amazed to see what looked like scrawny branches, two arms entwined with a neighbors. We'd never seen pruned vines before and to be honest, it was not impressive. 

And that is exactly what I dream my life will look like, at least for now. 

Mike Breen puts it like this: 

"We need to learn when it is our pruning time. This seems unproductive at first glance. After all, aren't we supposed to be pressing forth with all of our energy to do the work of the kingdom? In a word, no. We are supposed to pattern our lives after that of Jesus. It is not our energy and determination that impresses God, it is our living in the manner he made us that will produce the fruit he intends for us to bear. Pruning is not automatic for the branch. Left to its own plans, it would continue to grow, increasing in size but decreasing in strength, endurance, and health until it would be unable to hold the fruit it was intended to bear." (Building a Discipling Culture, pg.93)

The postcard called me to imagine this empty space into something that will help the planet. I believe I have, despite the lack of grandeur and zoning considerations.  

The secret's in the pendulum swing. As I allow the pruning, learn to abide, I'll be able to move into more fruitfulness than I could imagine in this season of piles of trimmed leaves. My vines are looking kind of bare but watch out. 

Spring is coming. One day there will be grapes.